Saturday, February 11, 2006

Rough start

So I'm not actually making much Olympic Knitting progress since ye old Opening Ceremonies. I left work early Friday because I honestly thought I was going to faint, which seemed way too Melanie Wilkes for my tastes. Not to mention it would re-inforce the 'weak woman' stereotype that my incredibly annoying coworker seems to favor.

So I came home early, opened the windows for about an hour because it was such a gorgeous day, and made like broccoli on the couch. Which is also kind of broccoli colored, but that's just a neat coincidence. It's Spring for me, now that Imbolc has come and gone, and the small birds I missed so much were back in *style*. I listened to their songs for the whole hour, since droves of them were hanging out in the tree and the bushes in the back of the building. I wish I knew more about my feathered friends, but I mostly just describe them as 'cute'.

And then my sunbeam shifted, and it got too cold, and I staggered into the bedroom and did a '9.9 from the German judge' worthy faceplant into my pillow. Until my friend rang to tell me she was coming to take me the Bosworth Charkha away. Which was definitely worth getting up for. Yes, I am in fact that easy. Toss a couple hundred bucks my way and I'll get out of bed. No coffee required even.

Long story truncated, my not-so-short nap had me wide awake until approximately 2:30am. And I ended up getting up at 7:30, to go do a really fabulous and enormously helpful seminar on Mercury Retrograde (coming soon to a chart near you!). And my gods, I wish I didn't have terminal camnesia, because the view from the rise there in Edmonds was stunning. The Olympics (the mountains, not the event), the Ferry, the blue blue water and the blue blue skies...I'm kicking myself.

I got home, and opened the next bag of Icelandic fleece, which necessitated an emergency wool washing spree. Because there is nothing on earth that makes me want to hurl more than the smell of a male sheep fleece. Granted, I've never had to a goat fleece, let alone one from Kazakhstan, so what do I know about stinky fiber, but still. Gag-o-rama!

However, all my washing tubs were occupied by Asta, the lovely ewe Icelandic, so I had to finish washing her in order to put Sig, the black male lamb fleece in for a presoak. With soap. Because he *reeks*, and now part of my apartment does as well.

I feel a Melanie coming on.

So there hasn't actually been that much progress on the knee high socks, but I am optimistic! Once I get some sleep, some food, and the smell of sheep piss off my hands, though probably NOT in that order? I'm all about the knitting baby.